It seemed incredible, and yet it was true, for as they drew nearer they
saw that it was indeed a beaten track across the desert, hollowed out by
long usage, and so covered with bones that they gave the impression of
a continuous white ribbon. Long, snouty heads were scattered everywhere,
and the lines of ribs were so continuous that it looked in places like
the framework of a monstrous serpent. The endless road gleamed in the
sun as if it were paved with ivory. For thousands of years this had been
the highway over the desert, and during all that time no animal of all
those countless caravans had died there without being preserved by the
dry, antiseptic air. No wonder, then, that it was hardly possible to
walk down it now without treading upon their skeletons.

"This must be the route I spoke of," said Stephens. "I remember marking
it upon the map I made for you, Miss Adams. Baedeker says that it has
been disused on account of the cessation of all trade which followed the
rise of the Dervishes, but that it used to be the main road by which the
skins and gums of Darfur found their way down to Lower Egypt."

They looked at it with a listless curiosity, for there was enough to
engross them at present in their own fates. The caravan struck to the
south along the old desert track, and this Golgotha of a road seemed to
be a fitting avenue for that which awaited them at the end of it. Weary
camels and weary riders dragged on together towards their miserable
goal.

And now, as the critical moment approached which was to decide their
fate, Colonel Cochrane, weighed down by his fears lest something
terrible should befall the women, put his pride aside to the extent of
asking the advice, of the renegade dragoman. The fellow was a villain
and a coward, but at least he was an Oriental, and he understood the
Arab point of view. His change of religion had brought him into closer
contact with the Dervishes, and he had overheard their intimate talk.
Cochrane's stiff, aristocratic nature fought hard before he could bring
himself to ask advice from such a man, and when he at last did so, it
was in the gruffest and most unconciliatory voice.

"You know the rascals, and you have the same way of looking at things,"
said he. "Our object is to keep things going for another twenty-four
hours. After that it does not much matter what befalls us, for we shall
be out of the reach of rescue. But how can we stave them off for another
day?"

"You know my advice," the dragoman answered; "I have already answered it
to you. If you will all become as I have, you will certainly be
carried to Khartoum alive. If you do not, you will never leave our next
camping-place alive."

The Colonel's well-curved nose took a higher tilt, and an angry flush
reddened his thin cheeks. He rode in silence for a little, for his
Indian service had left him with a curried-prawn temper, which had had
an extra touch of cayenne added to it by his recent experiences. It was
some minutes before he could trust himself to reply.

"We'll set that aside," said he, at last.

"Some things are possible and some are not. This is not."

"You need only pretend."

"That's enough," said the Colonel, abruptly.

Mansoor shrugged his shoulders.

"What is the use of asking me, if you become angry when I answer? If you
do not wish to do what I say, then try your own attempt. At least you
cannot say that I have not done all I could to save you."

"I'm not angry," the Colonel answered, after a pause, in a more
conciliatory voice, "but this is climbing down rather farther than we
care to go. Now, what I thought is this. You might, if you chose, give
this priest, or Moolah, who is coming to us, a hint that we really are
softening a bit upon the point. I don't think, considering the hole that
we are in, that there can